Fire of Youth One-Shot Series: Remembrance
by MiniKoontzy
Summary: A little series of one-shots. Focuses on each member of Team Prime as they visit the grave, and some of the stuff Ops gets up to in his endless free time. Shorter than my standard one-shots. Glimpses really.
1. Chapter 1

**Fire of Youth**

One-Shot: The Dead Still Listen

* _One of a series of little one-shots for each member of the team. First up: Arcee. Takes place...I dunno when. One of those ambiguously timed ones I just felt like writing. Short and a little sad, but sweet, too. :')_

* * *

Arcee stepped out of the groundbridge into the rugged woodlands and peaks of Yosemite National Park, blasters at the ready. Ahead of her loomed the large feature of El Capitan, the late afternoon sun just beginning its dip towards the horizon. For a moment she simply stood there in silence, taking it all in. She had never been here before. Her glance however was not fully that of the appreciator. There was a stern tactful gleam in them as she glanced around at the landscape. The trees provided at least some overhead protection, and the boulders and mountains provided both cover and high ground. But out here there was no electromagnetic shielding to hide her spark's energy signature; the Nemesis could easily detect her. She would need to warn Infernus if he didn't already know that they would need to be careful how often they visited Optimus's grave. Too much activity would get the Decepticons suspicious.

A few more glances and the femme signed faintly, deactivating her weapons. That was another causality of the War she supposed. She wondered that, if the War were nothing more than a bad memory, would she really be able to appreciate this place? Be spell-bound by its wild beauty? Optimus had been able to. He had come here often to relax she knew. Something about this place had drawn him time and again. Hopefully at some point she could see what that something had been. She wanted to be able to feel wonder and hope and joy again. But the War had smothered those emotions in her a long time ago. Now, all she felt was the need to protect whatever it was she had left. The universe seemed to have cursed her to lose things – people – most valuable to her. She could never seem to keep anything.

Another sigh escaped her, this one laced with pain.

She headed towards the feature's base ahead of her. Infernus had told her what to look for, so her pink-rimmed blue optics quickly scanned the few boulders around her for the tell-tale mark. She found it, and she found the ground to be ever so faintly disturbed nearby. Her spark cracked all over again as the original pain came rushing back with a vengeance. It seemed like just the other day they'd lost him when really it had been longer than that. She knew better than most that hurts like these never really healed. The best they could do was scar over, and the pain lingered.

And so, finding a nice spot that was well shaded and relatively shielded from plain sight, the femme knelt.

For a while she said nothing. The trees around seemed to sigh as a light breeze passed through their needles. Part of her admitted she was listening for a voice she knew she'd never hear again. She admitted she wanted to hear something, see something to let her know the former Prime was listening. But she knew it wouldn't happen. Those sorts of beliefs and desires were for the naive. She had seen and heard nothing of Tailgate or Cliff since their deaths. Why should Optimus be an exception? Death was impartial. So, apparently, were the rules governing the dead.

Something within her snapped then. A soft, choked sob wracked her body. Tears trickled out, sweet-smelling yet bitter and pained.

"Why?" she rasped. "Why do I keep losing people I care about? Why do I keep losing partners – _friends_? Is it some kind of curse?"

No reply came. Some spiteful part of her wanted to force an answer somehow. She'd been his lieutenant here. Didn't she deserve an answer?

"First Tailgate, then Cliff, now you. I know I'll lose Jack, too. Humans don't live as long as we do. We both know that. They're lucky if they hit a hundred. And if age doesn't get him Airachnid will. I just – I can't _take_ it anymore. It hurts too much."

She wept for a while in silence, letting her pain out while no one could see her. But soon it abated a little, the femme forcing some control back from her tumultuous emotions. Arcee knew she couldn't stay here long. If she came back looking this it would only worry Infernus and Ratchet both, not to mention Bluestreak. She still felt the tears sliding down her cheeks though, and she didn't try to stop them. Arcee gave a shuddering sigh.

"I'm sick and tired of _losing_ people, Optimus."

Above, clouds blocked out the sun, the landscape dimming along with her mood. The femme stared at the grave, expression close to dead. It felt like her pain was slowly numbing her entire frame of feeling. All Arcee could feel was her aching spark, which felt like Airachnid had jabbed one of her limbs into it and was slowly, gleefully trying to rip it out. Briefly she had the desire to help it. All the stories, tales, and legends said that – there – pain was nonexistent. At that moment that was what she wanted most – an end to the pain of loss. She was sick of goodbyes. She wanted for once to be able to say "Hello." Grief merged with anger in a heartbeat. She wanted to scream then. She wanted to scream aloud her pain, her anguish, her loss. She wanted to curse Primus for taking her friends from her, taking them out of her reach, for leaving her alone for thousands of years at a time. She wanted to curse him for taking Optimus away right when they all needed him most. She wanted to curse time itself for eventually taking away yet another partner from her.

Then, something did happen. The clouds parted to once more permit sunlight to bathe the land below. Unless she was imagining things it felt like a warm, unseen hand was laid on her shoulder. A warm breeze sweetened with the smell of mountain flowers swept by that seemed to whisper " _No_." Arcee whipped around, expecting to find a familiar face standing or even kneeling behind her. She expected a pair blue optics twinkling at her and a rare, gentle smile.

But she saw nothing.

She could've sworn on the Allspark she'd felt a hand though, and still felt it faintly. She would swear readily she'd heard a voice whisper on the wind. And she was ready to swear to anyone that she felt herself being watched – not maliciously but kindly. Protectively. Some of her pain faded. She was not as massively spiritual as some others, but she knew. She knew it was him. He was there. Maybe she couldn't see him, and maybe she was just imagining it. She just... _knew_. Not conscious knowing but deep, deep inner knowing.

Still kneeling, the femme lifted a hand instinctively and placed it on the shoulder where she felt the warmth. It increased a little in response.

"Thank you..." she whispered. "I miss you...We all do."

Again a warm, sweet breeze washed by. With it came another seeming whisper: " _Yes._ "

Arcee stayed there for a while, absorbing what comfort she could. Then she rose. The heat on her shoulder faded. She called for a 'bridge back to base, and it came almost instantaneously. She headed for it only to pause just before entering. She turned back towards the grave.

"Say hi to Cliff and Tailgate for me, will you?"

* * *

Infernus, alone in the hangar aside from Prowl, Ratchet, the teens, and Magnus turned to see Arcee return from her visit. She didn't look too good. She looked haggard and there were sweet-smelling stains on her cheeks. It didn't take a medic or a sleuth to put two and two together: she'd been crying. It also didn't take a genius to figure out why. Optimus's death had probably hit her the hardest, and this was her first visit to the grave. That had just dredged up all those emotions again.

"Arcee?" he asked carefully.

She looked at him then and he saw all that pain a second time. The femme made her way over to him, but there was no grief-stricken anger in her optics like in the past. There was just sadness, pain, and loss – but there was a little glimmer of what looked like contentment in her pink-rimmed blue gaze. You didn't get over a loss like this. You just came to accept it. He knew that.

The femme stood before him for a moment. Infernus didn't know what to expect, but he was not expecting her to suddenly lunge at him. He thought for a terrifying second she'd just attacked him like last time and that his pain receptors simply hadn't registered the hit yet. Only once the initial rush of performance enhancing chemicals faded did his processor slow enough to realize she hadn't done anything like that. She'd done the complete opposite of attack him, actually.

She was hugging him.

"Don't leave." she whispered.

Infernus managed a short, soft laugh: "Trust me. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Not if Ratchet has anything to say about it. If he had his way I'd be under hangar arrest for the next year and a half. He'd probably get Bulkhead to sit on me for good measure."

Her gaze was far from amused. "Promise me. Swear on the Allspark you won't leave." She was in deadly earned.

"I swear I won't leave. Cross my spark. 'Kay? Not goin' anywhere. Don't intend to either."

He heard a snicker and happened to glance up. Miko was grinning at them from the catwalks. Jack and Raf were oblivious, busy at work researching potential beasts. He kind of wished Mark was there to help keep the spunky Asian in check but he was busy at the auto-shop hangar. Neal was, too. Prowl and Magnus were so caught up in theorizing potential Decepticon attacks that they hardly noticed what was going on outside their little bubble of reality. Ratchet however was watching them with a bit a smile.

"Erm..." Infernus revved his vocalizer a bit awkwardly. He unfortunately was aware enough what was the cause of Miko's devilish snicker and grin. She thought they were getting together. "We should probably...uh...yeah."

Arcee disentangled herself and made to leave.

"Hey, Smoke?"

The Primeling cocked his helm to the side curiously. "Yeah?"

"You're a good Prime. I see why he chose you now."

He grinned. "Yeah well. I guess that makes one of us."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Like I said. Short. Sad. A little happy. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Fire of Youth**

An Apology Long Coming

* _We're gonna take a bit of a twist here: Wheeljack's turn. Figured this one'd be interesting seeing as he's the sort to fit the mold of "Ya want my respect? Fragging earn it!_ " _and he didn't get along well with Optimus due to his disdain of generals. Expect some possible swearing here. 'Jackie's the sort to give it to you straight and blunt. o-o_

* * *

A lone white mech leaned lightly against the thick trunk of an old tree, arms crossed over his chestplates. The expression on the loner's faceplates was an odd one not easily identified.

"Well. Uh. This is...kinda awkward."

Wheeljack had never been once to mince words. That was what had led to so much conflict between him and Ultra Magnus and the eventual disbanding of the Wreckers. A team was no team if it was constantly butting helms with the so-called "leader." Maybe he should consider himself lucky that the old mech had mellowed out a bit thanks to Infernus. It was one thing to teach fully matured, hardened Wreckers who knew what they were doing come any mission. It was another thing entirely to go teaching someone who was basically still a kid. Tactics had to be altered for better effectiveness. Being cold and stiff and professional just wouldn't work with the kid.

Optimus? He'd been a different story. Sure, yeah, he'd been ticked at him when he'd arrived chasing Dreadwing and had helped blow a fuel station into smoldering ruins, and gotten Miko to go on a dangerous mission with him to avenge Bulkhead when he'd been injured by Hardshell. But for all that he'd never once dismissed him in anger. Most he'd ever really done was scold him. He'd always seemed more... _disappointed_ with his behavior, not genuinely upset. His command style had, in hindsight, been a lot more liberal than that of Magnus or some of the other higher ups he'd worked under in the past. Most generals or captains or whatever that he'd worked with had simply ordered units around on the field, never really getting to know them. They were pawns in a massive, lethal game of chess. Optimus hadn't had that same mind set. He let the unit get away with a number of mishaps, shenanigans, and accidents with only warnings and ensuing lessons if Miko's stories were true – and he had a feeling they were, just maybe a little exaggerated. He also had never once fled and left his soldiers to fend for themselves according to Bulkhead and Jack. He'd stayed right there next to them, evening carrying them off the field himself.

Bulkhead had been right. Optimus hadn't been like the cowardly, self-preserving higher ups he'd had to work with during the War on Cybertron. He had been better than them.

And his own fragging selflessness had got him put in the ground, blasted without mercy by Darkmount's fusion cannons after he'd scattered them all to save the whole team. _He_ had been the one to stay behind while _they_ had ran. _He_ had been the one happy to lay down his life if it meant _they_ would survive – the complete opposite of what he'd thought the Prime would do. He honestly thought he'd flee _with_ the team.

He hadn't.

Now here he was talking to a grave.

The white Wrecker growled. " _Hate_ irony. Hate it. You just _had_ to prove me wrong _somehow,_ didn't you?" He sighed hoarsely. "I kept a stash of grenades towards the back of the base you slagging idiot. Why didn't you go grab those, plant a few on the groundbridge, rig the timers on them, and leave with the rest of the team? Idiot. Could've done that while Ratchet was 'bridging everyone out. So why the frack didn't you?"

No answer. A light breeze swept through the clearing, hot and dry and smelling strongly of burned sand and fire. On a tree nearby a bird let out a harsh, alarm-like buzzing call. A weird sense passed over him at the same time, the kind you got when someone was glowering at you but you couldn't see them. He looked around curiously. He found no one – except for the bird which was looking right at him from almost a hundred feet away on the branch of a pine tree, its black and white feathers ruffled.

"Oh come on. No. There is no way I'm believin' you're possessing a _bird_ just to glare at me. Nuh-uh."

The bird was silent for a moment. Then it let another one of its Primus-awful noises. The mere sound made him cringe. He got the feeling he was being scolded through the fragging animal. Slagged if he knew over _what_ though. Disrespect? He didn't think so. That mech had dealt with Ironhide during the War and Fowler here so he was no stranger to that concept. He took that sort of thing calmly. Was it about his suggestion? But why would he be upset over that? Optimus had known about the stash. He'd told him after Bulkhead had heckled him to do so. He'd left a few there in case of emergencies.

"And now I'm seriously believing what I said I wouldn't." he muttered. "The slag is up with me? First I'm talkin' to a grave now I'm talkin' to a damned _bird_."

He thought back on his own suggestion. He'd stashed the grenades in one of the storage bays towards the back of the base. The evacuation had been short notice, and Optimus – well, not only had he been overseeing the evacuation, he was also a big mech. He wasn't quite so fast as someone like Arcee or Smokescreen. Oh he could move it just fine, but it was the fine movements that weren't so quick, and worry could seriously impair fine movements. Getting all the way back there, getting the explosives, getting back, priming them to a timer...that would've taken too long. The base could've been overrun by then. Wheeljack was trained for that sort of speed on high stakes missions. Optimus hadn't been.

A haggard sigh escaped. Damn it. If only he hadn't been busy keeping Starscream's goons from blasting apart the mesa he would've slagged well done it himself. Maybe then this grave wouldn't be here and a kid wouldn't be trying to fight a war he'd mostly been unconscious for while trying to fill pedes five sizes too big for him. Really, in a way, it was his fault the former Prime was dead. If he'd only been there...

Still the bird gave its buzzing, alarm-like, hoarse call in the near distance every few minutes. He did his best to tone it out with a frown. Primus, the thing really was annoying as the Pit.

"Look, I know we never got along or anything but...for whatever it's worth now – I'm sorry. For everything I did that ticked you off. Pit, if I hadn't been so busy trying to dogfight with Seekers, maybe you'd still be here. Here, you know what? I'll even cut a deal with you: I'll try to play a little nicer with Magnus, but I ain't makin' any promises. I don't like him, he don't like me. If he wants to butt helms, fine. But I'll give it my best shot. Happy?" He directed this not at the grave but at the bird on the pine branch. "Now would ya shut the frag up already?"

The bird's obnoxious, audial-wilting calling fell silent, and he watched as it spread its wings and flew off for parts unknown. He grinned a little, though it was more a smirk if anyone had been there to see it.

"I'll take that as a yes."

He removed himself from the tree. He knew what kind of bird it was now – the name had popped into his helm as if planted there.

A magpie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Fire of Youth**

One-Shot: Until We Meet Again

* _You guys knew this was comin'. Ratchet's up to the plate this time. He and Optimus were so close in the series that one artist said they acted like an old married couple, just minus any romance since she's not a shipper. That's how true friends behave. True friends just know each other so well they can practically know what the other's thinking or wanting to do. True friends are tandem pairs. They compliment each other so well you just can't picture the one without the other._

 _So were Optimus and Ratchet a tandem pair._

 _Since they were so close, this'll be a bit longer._

* * *

" _Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light."_

– _Helen Keller_

* * *

For a while, Ratchet stood there at the base of a towering granite monolith many klicks from home, staring at the faint disturbance of the ground as if looking at himself in a mirror – and not comprehending what it was that he saw. Paradoxically, a small part of him understood well enough what he was seeing before him, but a greater portion desired to _not_ see, to _not_ understand. To wish that this was only a prolonged nightmare, and he would soon wake from it.

Deep down, however...he knew this was all too real.

It had been some time since he had been here last, but his aching spark made it feel as if that visit had only occurred the day before. In reality, it had been far longer than than a single sunrise and sunset. The disturbance in the ground was not so heavily pronounced and pine needles littered the area in a fine carpet. A few wildflowers had sprouted in the soil of the grave and nearby, their delicate petals dancing with color and fragrance. The fire-carved glyph in the nearby boulder was still there, a poetic reminder his friend was beyond pain and suffering and death and violence now. Free.

But that didn't make it hurt any less.

They had endured Orion's ascension to Prime. They had endured the War side by side. They had endured the loss of friends together. They had endured being driven from their homeworld as it. They had endured countless uneven battles on this strange, organic world light years from home. They had endured the loss of friends here as well. They had endured against an undead legion, a mysterious organization of former special forces members with a penchant for snatching Cybertronians and picking them apart, sickness, too many wounds to keep count of, and agonizing separation from the little unit of Autobots they were a part of. So many things they had done, so many things they had shared and gained and lost together. And in the veritable blink of a human eye his friend had been taken away. Gone. Dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead...

And they had survived. Each and every one of them.

All except Optimus.

Even now, Ratchet couldn't seem to wrap his helm around that insignificant but infinitely meaningful little word. Just one word. One human word. How in the name of the Allspark could one word, one syllable, hold so much _anguish_ , so much _pain_? It seemed wrong to him to describe so much anguish in just one word. Language was intended to be vastly descriptive, no matter where it stemmed from. The more descriptive, the better your chances of conveying what you meant to. One word should not be _able_ to describe enough pain to drown the entire North American continent.

 _Dead._

Perhaps unreasonably, the old medic found himself offended at that Lilliputian word. Only four letters. It was absurd – obscene even. This confounded, four-letter word did not deserve to exist. The word alone was an insult to the Prime's legacy. He deserved more. He didn't deserve to be in the ground. Taken away from his unit and his friends. Dead.

" _No._ "

Ratchet'd helm snapped up in an instant. He could've sworn he'd just heard a voice – _his_ voice. But...no. No, that was impossible. Optimus was gone, no longer tied to this plane. The only reason he had heard him through Infernus was owing to the Matrix's powers. And yet...He looked around to be doubly certain, only to sigh in weary agony. No. There was no one. He was merely letting his grief-addled processor become overly imaginative. Optimus was mute without the Matrix and a host to speak through. He needed a channel, and the only channel was back in the military hangar assisting with Rafael's search for beasts.

" _No._ "

Again the old medic looked around. Was he going mad?

" _No_."

Was it just his imagination or had he detected an undercurrent of amusement in that whispered word?

His answer came in a chuckle, a sound which had no physical source and that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Now he knew he was going mad. Optimus had never chuckled or laughed, not since Ariel had perished. Ratchet had very nearly lost him then, too. The waveform reset a shattered bond caused had a devastatingly high fatality rate. Worse, it had happened on the battlefield. The Matrix alone had kept him alive. Why would death give him any cause to laugh? He was still out of Ariel's reach.

" _No._ "

The old medic watched in amazement as a sphere of red, blue-rimmed light about the size of a basketball materialized out of thin air just above the grave. The flowers seemed to glow in its presence. In disbelief he reached out. There had always been stories in their culture of spark phasing back into the world of the living. However, there were no stories of a Prime's spark returning for any length of time. According to old beliefs a Prime was under great risk if they returned without a frame, and considering the entity slumbering at the core of this planet that belief did not seem entirely unfounded. There was no conceivable way...this was some sort of hallucination, surely...

Then the sphere surged at him. His vision crackled and whited out, he felt... _something_ latch onto his spark, and the world went black.

* * *

Ratchet's optics started to come back online after he felt himself repeatedly shaken. He was fairly positive he'd also heard his name spoken a few times, though that sensation was distinctly hazier despite his processor telling him it was more recent. In fact, everything felt hazy. Even his own thoughts were less than clear.

"What...what just happened...?" he groaned. He felt remarkably sore, and his vision was far foggier than he was used to. He could discern very little through the fog.

He sat bolt upright.

Fog.

 _Fog. Shimmering fog._

There had been no fog at the base of El Capitan. Infernus had mentioned being surrounded by shimmering fog when the youth had told him what had really occurred while he had been unconscious; he had mentioned a strange "mist mech" as well, he remembered, one that had dissolved into what had looked like strips of moonlight that had wound around him and begun healing him. He had lapsed out after that point to awaken an indeterminate amount of time later. He had spoken of something else, too – a light in the distance, laughter and merry-making coming from it. He'd very nearly gone to it...Interestingly enough, it seemed that Daily's voice had drawn him back.

He looked around. There was no light in the distance that he could see. In point of fact it was all around him. Instead of nothingness in every direction, what looked painfully like the Iaconian Hall of Records towered around him. The spectacular domed roof was even more spectacular than he remembered. On the ground floor with him was a large fountain decorated with an intricate bust of Solus Prime, expression stern and hammer raised high. Beyond the massive windows he could see spheres of light racing and dancing in the streets and in the skies – some even within the building – though they made no sound he could hear.

"I trust you are unharmed?"

Ratchet spun. His mouth dropped open, optics round. T-There was no chance what he was seeing was real...was there?

"... _Optimus?!_ "

Indeed, standing there with a broad smile was the Prime himself. Spectral, perhaps, but it was definitely him.

"Hello, old friend."

He felt his processor begin to short-circuit.

"What...?! How...?! ...Where...?! What in the Allspark is going on?!"

The smile only grew broader.

"You have answered your own question."

He stared. His neural net began to fire. Dots were connected.

"...I'm...?" He couldn't finish the sentence. It was too impossible a phrase to be spoken aloud.

Optimus finished for him: "Within the Allspark."

Ratchet blinked. He had the wild urge to laugh. Now he knew he was mad.

"That's not possible."

"And yet, through me, you are here."

"But – the Matrix? I thought that was where...?"

"As I have said to Smokescreen, I am not bound to the Matrix. It is not a prison, old friend. It is a crossroads. From it, I may flow between there and the Allspark with ease. Depending on your perspective, one might consider the Matrix a mere extension. Some here even view the Matrix and the Allspark as one and the same."

"...Why did you bring me here?" Ratchet asked after a bout of silence. A frown formed. He pointed an accusatory digit at him: "If you've killed me..."

The Prime smiled. "I have done nothing of the sort. You are but a visitor here, Ratchet. That is why your hearing is muffled and your vision blurred. It is for your own protection. Smokescreen _could_ hear and _could_ see. He was on the outer fringes of the Allspark, far beyond it, and regardless he nearly fell sway to its spell. You, however, are within it. Should you be in full possession of your faculties, the Allspark would mistakenly believe you _are_ offline, and Primus would bind you here. Not out of malevolence, but to keep you safe from the dark. As for why you are here...it is because I wish to prove something to you."

He turned on his heels and began to stride off out of the Hall. Ratchet continued to stare, still computing everything he'd been told. It was too fantastic.

Upon the realization that he wasn't following, Optimus turned to face him. He motioned him forward.

"Walk with me, would you?"

Still Ratchet did not move. His expression became somewhat grave while still retaining his gentle friendliness.

"Your time here is limited, old friend. I have eternity. You do not."

Thus encouraged, the medic followed after him in a daze. He was still having a hard time comprehending this. This had to be some sort of vivid, lucid hallucination or dream. There was no other explanation. Very conveniently, Optimus had not said _how_ he had come to be here. His wording, speech, and mannerisms certainly seemed genuine enough, but he _had_ known him for a significant amount of time. His processor would know how to mimic him to a convincing degree.

His expression unconsciously shifted from dazed to skeptical. The Prime seemed to sense the sudden scrutiny and turned to gaze down at him. There was a peculiar smile on his lip-plates, one which the medic was unable to immediately describe.

"You require convincing, I see." he noted. "You will have it soon."

Once beyond the open doors, Ratchet let his jaw drop at the glittering city. It was Iacon – but Iacon in its heyday. Massive towers scraped the skies, sparks – most likely Seekers – swirling around their spires. The roads below were similarly active, shimmering orbs of color and light darting and weaving around in a complex dance of movement. It was odd, he admitted privately, that the land of the dead should be so lively and colorful. Yet the most peculiar aspect (even, perhaps, unnerving) was that he could hear no trace of sound. Optimus was the only one he could hear plainly. Some curious part of him wanted to know then what the Allspark sounded like despite the Prime's warning, even if it was only for a single astrosecond. Having another describe sounds was a far cry from hearing the sounds for oneself, as hearing could be highly subjective at times.

They had barely gotten down the block when a bright pink light raced up to them, happily whirling around them both. It flickered like a mirage, and a painfully familiar ghostly pink and silver frame appeared.

"Hatchet!"

Spectral arms were flung around him. Ratchet blinked, disbelief warring with pain.

" _Ariel?_ "

The femme laughed. "You know any other bright pink femmes off the top of your helm?" When he didn't answer right away she finished: "No? Didn't think so."

Ratchet stared some more. His skepticism began to lower. Two pieces of proof were now looking at him, ghostly but happy. Together. Two light spheres sped towards them, wove around the Prime, and raced on.

"You brought me here to prove something. I still don't understand what it is you are attempting to prove."

"You believed earlier I was separated from the others. From Ariel. You see now that such an assumption is false. I am not isolated – far from it. Nothing impedes me from traveling here, and whenever Smokescreen has no urgent need of me, I do so. I am rather surprised he has failed to mention that to you."

The medic gave a short snort and admitted Smokescreen was probably trying to spare him as much as he could.

"The other point I wish you to understand is that I do not necessarily require Smokescreen or the Matrix to communicate. I admit using that medium reduces difficulty and risk, but as you saw I can manifest outside of both realms if I so desire – and with permission. Risk is reduced further in such situations should I manage to bind myself to something tangible."

Something tugged at Ratchet's memory banks, something Wheeljack had joked about not so very long ago. "Like a magpie for instance?"

At that Optimus gave another chuckle. "Precisely."

"...You _do_ realize the moral and ethical implications of possession, I hope." Ratchet said, one brow ridge arcing.

"Is it possession if I am not controlling the subject and merely offering suggestions that the subject then choose freely to accept and then enact?" the Prime queried philosophically. "Possession implies by default that the subject is entirely under the control of another, external force. It cannot be labeled as such if the criteria is not met."

Ratchet looked ready to snap a retort but the argument died before it could escape his vocalizer. Instead he merely glowered, arms folded. Slag this mech's gentle logic.

Ariel giggled. She had never forgotten the arguments these two had gotten into. Some were heated, some were friendly, some were both, and sometimes the poor doc just needed someone to rant to. Being a field medic was a pretty slagged stressful career to have during a war. Optimus had always been a wonderful listener. And he still was. So many here had arrived with unfinished business of a mind-boggling variety, and they just needed to _tell_ someone about it. Lost friends, lost unit mates, a personal goal never achieved, a secret kept that no longer needed to be kept, something that needed to be said but never had been – the list went on, but whenever he came, he would always listen. He would always find time for her, too. There was no sense of urgency here. They had all the time in creation.

The medic's glower turned into an expression of guilt. Ariel looked at him, puzzled.

"What?" she asked.

"...I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Either of you. I should've...I should've..."

Ariel pulled him into an embrace.

"You don't need to apologize. You never would've reached me in time even though you fracking well tried either way. No. First-Aid did his best, but you can't bring someone back who's offline. Megatron was brutal, sure, more than he frankly needed to be, but once the blade went through me everything just...cut off and went black. I woke up here. And Optimus – you had no way of knowing where he was. You're not psychic. Order of radio silence given and mineral interference cut off comm's. You couldn't have found him even if you tried. He wasn't in pain. You know that."

She pulled away, smiling. He hadn't seen that smile for so long.

"Don't feel guilty." she said. "You did nothing wrong."

All around him, the light began to fade. But at the same time, he very faintly heard the laughter of many. A baritone voice rumbled kindly:

"Stay strong for me, old friend. I will always be by your side."

* * *

" _Ratchet? Ratchet! Doc, answer me! Wake up!_ "

The sense of being shaken returned, and for a moment he thought the old medic hadn't been sent back, that there had been some sort of mishap. But the voice this time was not calm but drowned in panic, and far younger. His optics flickered back online to meet another pair of blue optics wide in fear.

"Oh, thank Primus!" Infernus gasped. "Don't scare me like that again! Your signal went offline and you nearly gave us all spark attacks! You nearly scared Raf to death! We thought Soundwave or somebody had found you and – and...and I came here and found you lying dead still and slowly turning grey and I've been trying to get you to wake up for the four breems almost!"

"Thirty minutes?" he demanded. That much time had passed? Really? It felt like only a few minutes had elapsed, and his chronometer was saying the same. Curious. But if he really had temporarily gone offline through Optimus's intervention, however, then that actually made sense.

"What the scrap happened?!" the youngling demanded.

Ratchet rose unsteadily, feeling somewhat light-helmed. Infernus helped him up and supported him, and gave him a quick once over to ensure no injuries. That fiery blue gaze demanded an answer. But what was he supposed to tell him? And would he even believe him if he _did_ tell him?

"...You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Infernus's expression became somehow deadpanning and haughty at the same time.

"Seriously? Try me, old timer. You're lookin' at the guy who got turned into a dragon by a bunch of mechanical demigods and who has said demigods stuck in his helm as we speak. Fracking. Try. Me."

* * *

 **:3 This one is a lot more spiritual than any other of the one-shots I'm gonna write. Also by far the longest of the one-shots by necessity. Ratchet and Optimus were such close friends and had a very long history that I was only able to touch on here.**

 **I will admit the Allspark is based largely on the Norse concept of Valhalla and the Land of the Remembered from the _Book of Life_ animated film. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Fire of Youth**

One-Shot: Ghostbusters

* _In response to Alexandria's request: here's one with Bulkhead! And hey_ _– Miko's with him! Blue will come later. I'd like to get the "main" members of Team Prime outta the way first before letting the new guys have their turns_ _– and yes, I consider Wheeljack one of the "main" team even if he acts like a lone wolf. Again, ambiguously timed like the others. I may find a way to slip these into the main FoY timeline later, or I may not. The one with Ratchet definitely, because there's a plot point there I'd like to incorporate.  
_

 _In the time-line of these one-shots, takes place after Ratchet's._

* * *

Heart heavy, Miko stepped out of the groundbridge with Bulkhead at her side. In her hands she had a drawing she'd been working on for a month or so of the mech that now lay in a grave, signed by Jack, Raf, June, and even Fowler – Mark had even signed it in a kind of last-minute thing when he'd driven by before they'd left for El Capitan. It sucked she couldn't leave it somehow. Slung across her back was the case of her electric guitar. Even if she couldn't leave anything, she could still play. Amps and speakers weren't needed; she intended to play something quiet. Guy had never been a huge fan of her rock music.

She'd wanted to come not only to pay a visit to him but to also see if she might get a glimpse of what had caused the doc bot to keel over and die for half an hour, then come back like nothing had happened. He'd spoken to Infernus about it but the guy hadn't said anything to anyone else other than saying "something had happened but it's okay now." She'd tried to ask them both about it but each had avoided her questions. She'd gotten the sense what had happened was part of a taboo subject or at least they weren't comfortable discussing it, but she really wanted to know what had happened here. What if it happened to Bulk?

Even if she didn't like the doc bot very much, that had scared her. Everyone had thought he'd been attacked, that the 'Cons had found the grave. Only when Infernus had reported no injuries on him had everyone realized something weird had gone on at the grave site.

Ahead of them the sole mountain rose. There was almost no sign of a grave being anywhere, but she did spot a slight disturbance in the ground. Infernus had said there was a mark somewhere on one of the smaller stones, but she couldn't see it right away. He'd said it was a spiral-looking thingy or something. Where was it? She looked around, unable to spot it.

"There." Bulkhead pointed.

Her eyes followed his digit until she spotted a small boulder nearby. Carved into it was the weird spiral Infernus had mentioned. She wasn't much for academics but she had to wonder what it meant, if it even meant anything at all. It was kinda pretty to look at.

"What's it mean?" she asked. "Does it mean anything?"

Her partner shook his head. He didn't recognize it for the life of him. Kinda made him wonder how the kid knew it, and if he knew the translation. Had the Matrix coughed up the info – had it come from another Prime? Or had he seen it during his guard days in the Hall? Kid could pick up stuff pretty fast, he knew that. Heck, maybe Trion had taken to teaching him some different languages while he'd been there. He wouldn't put it past the old book worm.

"Can't say I've seen it before. Doesn't look like a regular modern glyph though. I may not be an egghead but I recognize our own language when I see it. That's not a glyph that rings any bells. Style's all wrong."

Miko jogged over to it and stared at the odd spiral with new fascination. Huh. A different language than the one Bulk knew? Actually, why hadn't anyone in the park spotted it or reported it? Someone was bound to have seen the thing. Weird symbols didn't pop up out of nowhere in national parks, and she was enough of a rebel to guess that graffiti on government property would probably get you into _big_ trouble with the management. So why had no one reported it yet? Regulars would definitely spot something that hadn't been there before.

Her hand stopped just as tracing the carved symbol with her finger. She jerked back on feeling...something. Almost like a static shock. Miko jumped back, startled, and slung her guitar off her back to brandish it like a club. It felt like someone was watching her, too. Bulkhead reacted in an instant, one big hand morphing into a heavy blaster.

"Who's there?" he demanded. The blaster moved around nervously. "Show yourself!"

A cool mountain breeze fluttered past. Unless his optics were playing tricks on him he swore he saw some kind of movement if he turned his helm at a particular angle and looked sideways out of his optics. It looked like one of those strange shadows humans were supposed to see out of the corner of their eyes every now and again. They called it a trick of the light and their brain trying to imagine something there when there wasn't, but...he wasn't so sure. He got the real distinct sense they were both being watched closely by someone nearby. Most importantly, it wasn't _mean_ watching like the kind he always felt around Soundwave or Starscream. This to him was more curious, and it felt like the air warmed – warmed by a smile no one could see.

The hand was lowered, the weapon dismissed. Still confused, Miko's guitar case remained brandished.

"What?" Miko wondered, eyes wandering but mostly stayed focused on the zap-happy rock.

She didn't trust that rock anymore. Rocks didn't go zapping people.

"...We're not alone here." he said.

The girl snorted. "You're not gonna go all philosophical on me, are you?"

Bulkhead didn't look down at her as he said: "No, I mean we're not alone here. Look out the corner of your eye at that spot right there."

He pointed to a location just at the base of the mountain, near at hand to the grave. Not quite getting where he was going with this, Miko did as told – but she didn't put the guitar case down. There was something funny going on here, and she wasn't totally sure whether or not she'd need to bash someone over the head with it. But when her eye landed on the spot in question, the instrument, case and all, almost dropped from her grip. It wasn't an actual shape she saw, more like a heavy blur. Her jaw dropped.

"Oh my gosh. No way. There's something there. There is _actually_ something there! D'ya think...?" she looked up at him.

"Maybe." Bulkhead admitted. "Guess talking to empty air wouldn't be as awkward as I thought."

He grinned at the spot and said: "And you always scolded Miko for being reckless you big plaster saint. You're _really_ pushing your luck here, boss. Er, ex-boss."

There was no voice to answer back. But another breeze swept by after a moment, this one warm and sweetened with the smell of mountain flowers. He didn't even need to see him to know there was a smile on the Prime's lip-plates. He hadn't totally believed Arcee's story but now he was a hundred percent sold. Optimus _was_ there, right there with them even if no one could see him and he couldn't talk as he had before...before all this. He still couldn't really process that Optimus freaking Prime was now lying in a grave in front of him and his ghost was potentially right next to the grave and trying to talk to them both.

"No way!" Miko gushed. "Ghosts _are_ real! Can you pass through walls? Can you possess people? Can you make stuff float? Oh! Oh! Are there evil ghosts you have to fight?! Are you being hunted by them?! Does the place look normal or, like, is there a whole _Murdered: Soul Suspect_ thing going on with you?"

Bulkheads grin became far more genuine. "I'm...not sure how in the heck he's supposed to _answer_ , but okay."

Again a warm breeze fluttered by. A few leaves were picked up by it and swirled around her.

"How the heck are you even doing that?!" Miko demanded, arms flailing wildly. "Like seriously? You some kinda air bender now or what?"

Again the breeze. Miko rolled her eyes and laughed. "Do I need to get a Ouija board for you or something? No, you know what? I'mma head back and go ask around. Maybe someone on site has one for Halloween pranks n' stuff." Her phone was whipped out. "Raf? Bridge porfa please. I need to go snitch a Ouija board from one of the troops. Like right now. Screw the guitar. I got a ghost to interrogate."

Very distinctly they swore they heard a faint chuckle on the next gentle breeze. Even if it wasn't Optimus _someone_ here was definitely entertained.

As asked a groundbridge swirled open. Miko darted towards it but then did a u-turn and darted back towards the grave. Pulling the drawing out, she quickly placed it beside the grave and plonked a few small stones at certain points to keep any gusts from blowing it away. Then she ran back towards the portal, and she was swallowed by it in the shutter of an optic. It closed just after that.

Bulkhead looked at the grave, then where the groundbridge had just been, then back at the grave. He blinked.

"What the heck is a Ouija board?" he wondered aloud.

The chuckle on the wind grew to faint, soft laughter.

* * *

 _Later..._

"Okay. Let's see if this works. Otherwise I owe Adrian ten bucks."

"You made a _bet_ with him?"

"Shut up. He issued a challenge, I accepted."

Bulkhead rolled his optics. "Miko..."

Miko had been fortunate enough that the Gonzalez twins at the auto-shop hangar owned a Ouija board. Adrian had issued a challenge to her over it: if the board didn't work or if she got possessed by the ghost, she owed him ten dollars for an exorcism. She'd accepted – mostly because she felt pretty certain it would work and the ghost they were dealing with was totally harmless. Librarian robots didn't go possessing people, did they? Nah. 'Course, he'd have to sorta do that for this to work if the wiki page about the boards was right. Maybe he'd just use the wind to move the dial. Hopefully. If Optimus possessed her she'd lose the bet.

She laid the board on the ground and took a seat by it, crossing her legs. Her hands hovered over the board dial just in case.

"Okay. Hello ghost. Are you Optimus Prime?" she asked. She warned for no lying as an afterthought – Adrian had a cross and knew how to use it if any funny business was tried, and Infernus had a Matrix.

She yelped and nearly fell backwards when the dial looked like it was scooched in the same way a finger might push a small object. Quickly she recovered and recorded its movement on her phone. It landed on " _Yes_."

"HA! I called it!" she shrieked.

"Actually, _I_ kinda called it." Bulkhead argued. "You didn't even see anything till I pointed it out. Figured it was him either way. This just proves it."

Miko gave him a look and went back to the board.

She asked another question: "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be, like, someplace else?"

"And aren't you breaking a slag-ton of rules by being here?" Bulkhead added.

The dial moved around on the board quickly, but not so fast to where she couldn't records the letters it landed on. In about a minute a message had been written out by the letters. A moment later and two symbols followed suit: a colon and a parentheses.

 _VISIT FAMILY :)_

Another message formed:

 _B: HAVE PERMISSION_

Miko smiled. Aw, the big 'bot missed them. And apparently he'd picked up on the use of emoticons, too. That was kinda cute of him. He needed permission to do this? Weird. From the story he'd told during the whole Unicron thing it sounded like Primes were at the top of the power ladder. Couldn't they just do whatever they wanted?

"Oh! Um. You like my picture? I got a bunch of people to sign it."

The dial scooted over to " _Yes_ " making her smile. She admitted she had meant to play a song for him, but seriously – this was _way_ cooler.

"Alright. Let's cut to the real questions now: how are you doing that wind trick?"

Once more the dial scooched around to form a message, this one a bit longer and less clear:

 _NO LONGER TIED_

 _CAN MANIPULATE_

Confused, Miko blinked, frowned, and looked up at Bulkhead for some kind of clarification. When he shrugged cluelessly she looked back down at the board and asked if he could be a little more clear.

 _ENERGY INTERACTS WITH ALL_

 _AM ENERGY_

She nodded a bit uncertainly and decided to leave it at that. Maybe Ratchet or Raf could make more sense of the message he was trying to send, because she was drawing a total blank. He was probably keeping them short to save time so Slendermech wouldn't get a fix on their location, so it wasn't entirely his fault. Guy would write an entire paragraph if he could get away with it, she knew he would. There was a bigger question that needed answering here.

"Why'd you zap me?" she demanded.

"Wait, what?" Bulkhead interrupted. "He zapped you? Is that why you jumped back from the rock?"

Her eyes didn't stray from the board as the dial wiggled around and she answered matter-of-factly: "Duh. There was no spider. Why else would I jump?"

 _AM SORRY :(_

 _STILL LEARNING_

Not entirely satisfied, Miko huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. But she couldn't hide the faintest glimmer of a smile when another warm breeze swept by and around her, like somebody was giving her a hug. Okay, maybe she was being a little too hard on him over that. He obviously hadn't meant to do that. Being a ghost was new to him and so all the bells and whistles would be new to him, too. Come to think of it that was pretty cool he could even _do_ that. Ghosts could zap people? Sweet.

The dial moved again.

 _WILL NOT ZAP FOR YOU_

Apparently mind-reading was a ghost power as well. Frack.

 _"_ Aww, come on. Not even a little one to scare Jack or Blue when they come?"

The dial quickly jumped over to " _No._ "

She made a face. "Typical killjoy."

Bulkhead sniggered. In all fairness Optimus had never been one to join in on mischievous shenanigans. It just wasn't his style.

"Were you the one to make the doc keel over, die, and come back?" she continued.

The dial moved. " _Yes._ "

Two pairs of jaws dropped open.

"Why?" Bulkhead demanded in shock. "What was all that for? You nearly gave us all spark-attacks by doing that to him! We can't exactly repair ourselves without a medic!"

The message that ensued was by the longest by far:

 _WANTED TO SHOW_

 _PROVE POINT_

 _MATRIX IS NOT PRISON_

 _DID NOT MEAN TO SCARE_

That one was pretty clear. Optimus had done whatever he'd done to Ratchet to try to prove a point to him, not to scare him or anyone else. She didn't quite understand how he'd gone proving said point (and from the look on Bulk's face it seemed he was in the same boat) but at least he hadn't accidentally hurt him or anything in doing...whatever it was he'd done to the doc 'bot.

"Would you be able to do whatever you did to Bulk?" she asked.

The answer came quick and clear:

" _?_ "

"You don't know?"

The dial wiggled on top of the question mark symbol it was on and stayed there. She took that to mean he didn't know himself or didn't have an easy explanation.

"Can I get some questions?" Bulkhead asked.

The dial danced over to " _Yes"_ but a message formed without pause:

 _TIME SHORT_

Bulkhead nodded. He promised to keep it short.

"Any idea what happened to Dreadwing? After he handed us the Forge he kinda of just...vanished."

There was a long pause where the dial didn't do anything, but then it moved slowly and with meaning to form the next message:

 _IS ONE_

Bulkhead's optics went round. "He's _dead?_ What – what killed him?"

Another pause. A series of slow, heavy messages came:

 _UNKNOWN_

 _AVOIDS_

 _WILL NOT SPEAK_

 _ANGRY_

The green Wrecker was forced to shake his helm. He hadn't liked or trusted the mech even after he'd handed the Forge over to them but being another casualty in the War was something only old bucket-head deserved. He had to wonder what had killed him – whatever it was had left him bitter enough to avoid Optimus like the plague apparently. Yet when they'd met in the Zhangjiajie National Forest Park in China, where he'd delivered the Forge to them, he'd seemed coldly respectful towards the former Prime – not angry.

"Any idea what's makin' him angry?"

" _No._ "

Again his helm shook. That was weird.

"What about Seaspray; the other Wreckers?"

 _ROWDY AS EVER :)_

 _ONE STUCK KICK SIGN TO BREAKDOWN_

He managed a laugh at that. "Oh, man. That was Rotorstorm, wasn't it? Wasn't it? It was totally him."

Miko interrupted with another question of her own:

"Can you possess people?"

The dial moved onto "Yes" but then quickly jumped over to "No." Miko wasn't totally sure what he was trying to say. How could you possess someone and not possess someone? She felt that was like saying the sky was blue but, y'know, it totally wasn't blue.

She was about to ask another question when the dial moved over to "Goodbye" abruptly. Her eyes widened.

"Optimus?"

The dial didn't move.

"Optimus?"

The dial didn't move. A warm breeze sweetened with the smell of wildflowers swept by and around her. Then it faded.

"...Optimus?" she asked. Her voice cracked as a horrible suspicion rose in her mind.

"I don't think he's here any more Miko..." said Bulkhead.

Miko's eyes widened: "No! Come back! I have more questions! I wanna talk to you!"

"Miko..."

She grabbed the the dial and shook the board a few times in the vain hope it was just broken or something. But when she set it back down on the ground and put the dial back in the center, nothing happened. The dial remained inert.

The girl heaved a sigh and hung her head over the board, a few tears welling in her eyes and blurring her vision. One fell onto the wood, then another. Another warm breeze wafted by, drying the tears in her eyes. A flutter of paper made her head lift and eyes wander away from the talking board. Right where she'd left it her drawing fluttered in the wind as if it wanted her attention.

"Miko, your drawing." Bulkhead suggested.

Curious, she rose and walked over to it. At first glance nothing looked out of the ordinary but on kneeling and picking it back up she noticed an odd symbol had been drawn into it somehow by an invisible hand. She didn't know what it was exactly but it definitely wasn't Earth-based. She turned to her towering friend and held the picture up for him to see, pointing out the odd symbol.

"What's that mean?"

Bulkhead knelt and looked it over for a moment. Soon enough a smile formed.

" _N'klova laz koph'ola yil._ " said the green Wrecker.

"Enka...what now?" wondered Miko.

"It's Iaconian for ' _Until the wheel of fate rounds once more._ ' Kinda like your way of saying 'See you next time.'"

Miko looked at the drawing in shock. Smiling, she held the picture close. That smile of hers soon became impish. Her eyes, once misty, gained a sparkling gleam.

"Looks like Adrian owes me ten bucks."

"Miko!"

* * *

 **Author's Note: I just wanted some fun with a Ouija board in all honesty. I know normally they're displayed with just "Yes/No" markers, but some are pretty darned complex and have the entire alphabet plus some symbols and short phrases on them like "Hello" and "Goodbye." I'm not a spiritual person but I think in this fic I can get away with it.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Fire of Youth**

One-Shot: Restless

* * *

It was always depressingly, frustratingly easy to know where Dreadwing had been recently. He left hot red trails of anger and regret wherever he went like glowing, blistering slime lines, and even if the trail had gone cold, the Seeker Captain's presence left others agitated in his wake wherever he went.

From the very moment he had sensed that trail he had tried to approach him, tried to talk to him, offered to listen. Dreadwing had taken to avoiding him like the Rust Plague in consequence. But he refused to yield and surrender. The Seeker needed help whether he admitted it or not. Until he accepted that help, he would continue to agitate the other sparks, and he would not be able to rest like the others he had aided. There were so many here with regrets, with old angers and grudges. Dreadwing was one of the few who had not let him assist him, leaving him to wander and create his trails of hot regret and anger. Ariel had insisted he wait for him to come to him on his own time but Dreadwing had made no such effort, nor had he ever seemed inclined to. And so yet again he found himself following another hot red trail, feeling the burning tingle it caused whenever he stepped into the energy Dreadwing had left in his wake. In the past, the trails become a confusing maze in the Seeker's efforts to evade him but this one was near ramrod straight in its direction. He took that as a good sign. Perhaps Dreadwing had ceased his tactic of avoidance.

As the trail grew hotter, more recent, he was somewhat encouraged to find the trail led to the one place restless sparks like him tended to gather: the bar.

The old Macadam's building looked the same as it had before Iacon's sacking, a strange conglomeration of Silver Age architecture with modern pieces added on to its structure like unusual tumors. It was an eyesore then and and eyesore still but a familiar one. From the voices and throbbing music inside its doors there was a full house at that moment, or at the very least another fight between old enemies had broken out. He prayed it was the former. Breaking up fights between living foes had been difficult enough in that bar, but breaking up fights between spectral ones was so difficult that Predacons generally needed to be called in from the Hunting Grounds to settle them. They were some of the few capable of preventing the shift between shell projection and core, enabling the two parties to be separated and cooled down. But perhaps he would be lucky this time, he told himself. Perhaps it would only be Wreckers rough-housing with each other. Such a thing had happened a few times before.

So, steeling himself, he pushed open the engraved doors, ducked, and entered into the dim lighting and pulsing neons that lined the walls of Iacon's most beloved eyesore.

As discreetly as he could, he dropped the shell surrounding him and skirted the edge of the main room where a brawl was taking place between a sneering Towers District mech and a little mini-bot, a group encircling the two and egging the two on. But it seemed the mini-con was fighting out of sport and wounded honor rather than a need to settle scores. He did not see Dreadwing right away but he could see the trail he had left clearer and brighter than ever, weaving through the crowd. He reformed his shell once past the hooting gathering of sparks. And then he caught sight of him. He was sitting towards the back of the establishment, helm down, wings down, staring at the table, two empty cubes resting by the arm and clenched first that lay on the table. The Seeker Captain hardly took notice of what went on around him, not the lights, the music, or the fight. He looked and acted numb. The energy near him, while still mostly red, bore flecks of forlorn, hopeless navy. He let the shell form again and joined him opposite where he sat.

Dreadwing took no notice of him for some time. He said nothing to him. It was patience that would win such a personality over, not pushing or shoving.

"You cannot help," he said at last, not bothering to grace him with a connect of sight.

"And what makes you say that?" he wondered.

Helm still down, he replied back, "Unless you can gain access to a separate dimensional plane and slay an undead, or kill Starscream, you are of no use to me. One is not possible, and the other I know you will not do. So why pester me with your presence and your false hopes?"

He was silent. He had suspected that was the cause of Dreadwing's anger but to hear it confirmed gave him a somber kind of hope. He had finally stopped fighting him. Dreadwing knew what the problem was, knew it needed to be solved, but he did not believe it was possible.

"You are correct," he conceded. "I will not kill Starscream, nor will I have Infernus commit the act for you, and accessing another plane of reality is not possible. Not for me. But you forget that there is a Prime capable of creating new dimensions at the swing of one of his blades. What makes you think he cannot access the one your twin is trapped in?"

"The Lord of Time has far more important things to concern himself with," the violet Seeker muttered. "Why would he ever bother with something so trivial as this?"

"Because time is not linear, Dreadwing. Leaving your twin where he is could have unforeseeable consequences in the future, and need I remind you that it is Vector's task to protect the space-time continuum from anomalies, present or potential."

Dreading finally broke his gaze away from the table. A dash of his former military demeanor returned. His wings hiked back up to a resting position. But then his helm shook, "Be that as it may, Optimus, the problem then becomes: how are we to deal with this in our present states? The way we are – we cannot hope to fight and slay my twin. It is preposterous to even suggest. We are nothing more than memories now, and to leave this place would mean danger. You saw what happened to those sparks the guides brought back recently. Trapped in a black haze for centuries, some driven to the brink of madness. That is not a fate I would wish on anyone."

"There is no need to fight him. You will not need to."

"Are you mad?" Dreadwing sputtered. "Do you suggest we hover in front of him and hope to lead him off a cliff?"

"No."

The Seeker scrutinized him intently, searching for an answer.

"You are the splitspark twin of Skyquake. When he perished, you must have felt the link you possessed to him break. But the bond between splitspark twins is far deeper than feeling the other half have its life cut short. Indeed, I am impressed you did not collapse and perish alongside him when that happened. Twins are not meant to be separate. They never have been. You are opposite halves made whole. From what I understand of the reanimation process, the ones subject to it are merely hollow husks, their sparks long gone. But in Skyquake's case, re-animated so soon – I suspect, confused at the black fog around him at time of death, fueled further still by his desire to complete a mission, he saw it as a chance to return without truly understanding what would happen to him. If that theory is correct, he is trapped in that husk, correct?"

"He is," murmured Dreadwing in a hoarse rasp. "He is, I can feel it. Every time I think that husk has expired I hear him scream. But it has been growing weaker."

Concern gripped him. "Weaker?"

Dreadwing's helm shook, "It is...hard to describe. The link is still there, that is how I hear him, but it – it is like the signal is being interfered with. His voice is not as clear as it was."

He rose, "It is as I feared, then. We have little time to act. Come."

His winged hiked up into a sharp valley, "What? What do you mean? What's happening to him?!"

" _Come._ " Very rarely did he ever use such a powerful rumble of his voice.

Frightened, bewildered, Dreadwing followed him back out into the light. Shells were dropped in favor of the alacrity of core flight, his a sphere of red and blue, the Seeker's a bright yellow. But even at their flowing speed it took time to reach the first stop on their journey. On reaching the silver-gold barrier, he formed his shell again. He guided the mech out into the mists and darkness that extended into eternity outside their cradle of light, where the only light came from the stars high, high above, far out of their reach and forever distant, and the shining gold and white beacon behind them that cast pale grey shadows. It was to those stars he fixed his gaze. After a time, one great, bright star fell from the sky to join them, the world around rippling under its contact. Its light reshaped from sphere to that of a mech, but a mech taller and more imposing than he could ever hope to be. Vector was a giant even compared to him. Dreadwing gawked in silence at the figure of the Time Guardian that towered over them both, awed, amazed, and somewhat fearful of being in the presence of one who could bend time itself to his will. The sheer number of olden gears that clanged away on his battle-scarred frame reminded them both just how ancient this being was. A great blade, its hilt made of the same gears as his body, was held in one hand. He gave the Seeker at his side a quiet nod, eliciting a dropped jaw and a few startled steps away. Wings low, Dreadwing bowed. Vector, amused at the display but in no mood for needless formality, used the very tip of his great blade to coax him back into a standing position.

"Your fears were not unfounded then?" the older Prime demanded of him.

"Unfortunately, Dreadwing has confirmed them."

The look of abject shock Vector gave at his words did nothing to alleviate Dreadwing's building fear for his twin. The flickering yellow star at the center of his green and violet shell pulsed and trembled.

"Opportunistic villain!" Vector spat. "I thought trapping the dead was as low as he would ever stoop to and yet he attempts such a flagrant, blasphemous atrocity as this!"

"What? What's being done to him?!"

Snarling, his old wings trembling in rage, the Time Guardian hefted his great blade and sliced it upward. Reality itself rent asunder in its wake.

"Go. Quickly! I will _not_ allow a twinbond to be broken!"

Dreadwing, frozen, had to be pulled through the tear in reality. He sincerely hoped his theory proved true lest Dreadwing's doubtful hate of him increase.

* * *

There was nothing at first that told him this was another dimensional plane. The black fog Optimus had mentioned, and that so many of the recent arrivals had been traumatized by, was absent from the rocky canyons. Perhaps the Unmaker's field could not extend beyond the dimension he physically inhabited. He took it as a good omen. But there was something in the air that hinted something was different about this place. It took him a moment to realize what it was: there was no wind in these canyons. The air was dead. On top of that, there was a low vibration he could feel but not detect.

"...I don't like this place..."

Hearing the howling curses and cries of vengeance from his twin only cemented how much he did not like this plane of reality. Further in the canyon he could hear the faint galumphing of a trod and the _scccccrrrrr_ of the other being dragged along the stone, as well, though how he could "hear" as an incorporeal spirit was a question for another time. For now, he would count it as a blessing. The sound, he noted, was growing fainter. Skyquake was headed away from his position, further into the canyons. He could feel his twin's yearning to fly again.

"Go," Optimus rumbled. "Find him. Free him."

"You are not coming?"

The former Prime shook his helm, "It would be best I not. Yet. Should you need me, for any reason, I will come."

He knew why the Prime was holding back. Skyquake was not so quick to forget the past.

So he began his journey into the canyons towards the receding noises. Not hearing his own trods meet the stone or the faint hiss of fans and air cycling was still something he was getting used to, but it wasn't quite so unnerving as it had been to begin with. It made hearing the noise of his twin all the more easier. Skyquake was not moving at a fast pace. The spaces between the thump of one trod and the screeching of its dragged partner told of the shuffling of a body that had long given up, one only barely kept functioning through unnatural means. He began to stroke his anger as the sound of the undead husk reached near peak volume, close enough he caught the wisp of a tired groan escape into the dead air.

He rounded one final, gentle bend in the landscape. And then he saw him.

From behind he could still see much. Skyquake's armor was battered, beaten, broken, its luster long since forgotten and tainted by violet rot, his entire frame practically falling apart wherever it was possible to fall apart. One arm was missing entirely at the shoulder joint, the area scorched from what he assumed must have been a missile of some bygone model, the exposed wires within having simply...disconnected. Fallen off. One of his legs appeared to have been damaged as well, the ankle twisted at a horrid, unnatural angle and scarred by scratches caused by its lame dragging against the stone for so long. Parts of his chassis, once the canopy of a military aircraft that matched his own, had been ripped open at one point. As he continued to shuffle through the canyon, bits of paint flecked off from his husk of a body, falling a short distance behind him, unable to travel on the breeze as they would have outside this place.

Sorrow wailed alongside his unmitigated fury. Damn Starscream to the deepest black of the Pit!

He rushed forward, tried to reach for his twin's one remaining arm with a spectral copy in a desperate lunge. The limb phased through it. His twin did not respond. He was about to curse his incorporeal nature when Skyquake turned. He did not meet his spectral gaze as he had thought he might; his violet optics looked down at the star roiling within his spectral shell. Or that was what it looked like. He wasn't quite sure what it was his twin was seeing. He could see _something_ of him at least. Shell or spark, it did not matter. He knew there was a Presence.

"Skyquake...?"

His twin made no response. He had expected as much. But it had been worth the attempt.

 _Brother, can you hear me?_

 _Dreadwing? Is that you?_

 _Yes._

 _You are...?_

 _Yes._

 _I see. I...did not feel you perish._

Skyquake leaned forward, extending a flaking set of battered digits his spark, letting it hover there for a few moments – the closest either of them could get to an embrace in their current states. He put one spectral hand of his own atop the limb. It did not matter at that moment that Skyquake could not see or feel it. All he cared about was being near to him.

 _How did you find me? How did you gain access to this place?_

He left his questions unanswered in favor of the one he had not asked, I _am here to bring you home, brother._

 _You are wasting your time, then._

 _What?_

 _I cannot leave. I have tried countless times to flee this useless husk of a body. I cannot. The foul substance used to revive is no longer a crystal that can be wrenched free.  
_

He reeled back. He truly was trapped within his own degrading body. Would it be at all possible to help him then? Unless...

 _There is someone with me who might be able to help you, should you accept._

 _Who? Primus himself?_ his twin scoffed.

 _No, but someone close to him. A former Matrix-bearer. But you must promise not to attack him. Swear it on the home he will help you into.  
_

 _...Very well. I swear it on the Allspark to not attack him.  
_

 _Stay here then. I will bring him to you.  
_

The shell around him dissipated, and he turned and flew back the way he had come. Optimus was close at hand to where he had left him, kneeling down to examine the scratches in the stone left by a dragging heel of metal. He lifted his helm on catching the light of his spark. The former Prime did not appear surprised to see him again, nor did he show surprise on being informed of the problem. He agreed to follow him. Together, they returned to where his twin stood waiting. He prayed Skyquake could forgive, forget, even just for a moment.

On sighting the red and blue sphere at his side, Skyquake emitted a burbling growl and howled over the bond.

 _YOU! Come to gloat, have you?!_

Optimus skirted back from the hand that swiped.

 _Brother, please! Remember your promise to me! He can help you!_

 _He is the reason I am like this!_

"He is still angry at you..." he muttered to him.

His companion frowned, "I feared as much. Can you speak to him on my behalf?"

"I will try."

"Tell him it was not my hand that ended his life, nor my scout, nor our human ally, Fowler, but his own," he said, staring him down like the message was not wholly for his twin.

"That will _not_ win him over," he said wryly.

"Tell him," Optimus insisted.

He repeated the message. Skyquake roared, _You expect me to believe that, Autobot?! It was your scout who ripped my chassis open, causing me to crash and expire!_

"...He does not believe you."

' _And yet his words do not ring hollow to me..._ '

"You gave us no choice," protested Optimus gently. "I offered you a chance to change paths and you refused, forcing us to fight. Had you accepted my offer, had you averted your path, the end result of that day would not have been your grave. I took not pleasure in your death, Skyquake. All it wrought was sorrow. For Dreadwing, for me, for the life-giver himself."

Something in his twin's demeanor shifted when he repeated those last words. He became... _calmer._ Fury was replaced by skepticism.

 _And why would an Autobot help me? I am your enemy. I still am. The only reason I do not attack is because I know I cannot harm you._

"He wants to know why you wish to aid him."

The former Prime dared take a few silent steps of approach, "Because a soldier of your caliber deserved more than a shallow grave marked by loose stone, nor did you deserve what Starscream did to you after we laid you there. If you truly believe this was my fault, Skyquake, then let me rectify it by helping you home. The residual energy from the Matrix within me can cleanse the taint from you. I can free you. _"_

Skyquake did not answer. He growled. He felt his grudge against him lace like a burn mark across the bond. He did not trust him. He did not forgive him. He would never let this go.

 _Brother, do not repeat your mistake. Optimus gave me the same offer when I returned the Forge of Solus Prime to him in secret, hoping to save me from the same fate that befell you. I did not listen. My pride in the Decepticon cause cost me, as it did you. Megatron himself put a cannon charge through me when I tried to avenge your death. I do not ask that you forgive him, merely that you forget the past for now, trust him, and accept the offer of aid. Please. Accept it. I do not wish wish to lose you. The bond between us is weakening. Unicron is trying to separate us. Permanently. This will be your only chance. Let go.  
_

His twin let his digits hover over his spark once again. His anger faded to a low broil.

... _I do this for you. Only you.  
_

He turned to the Prime, bowing his helm forward slightly, "He accepts."

"Then have him approach."

He floated to the side to let Skyquake lumber forward. The former Prime extended one hand, letting it phase directly through the husk's broken chassis, and shuttered his ghostly blue optics to concentrate. Soon, his spark went from a bright speck of red and blue light to a blazing white star. White fire arced up through the limb and into his twin's broken body. He expected his twin to scream in pain but he did not. The dim violet light speckling his body and polluting his optics began to fade. The aggression in his frame went with it until he stood there, an upright corpse – a true corpse now – smiling to itself. Over the bond came a wash of joy and relief. Optimus staggered back, gasping, hand free, the white fire evaporating from it. Skyquake fell in an instant, nothing keeping his body functioning now. He landed on his side. He did not move or rise.

Before his twin, he knelt.

"Let go, little brother," he murmured. "You are free now."

A little light, army green flecked in burnt orange and yellow, floated free of the dead metal. At a touch, a shell formed around it, the shell he remembered, a shell not beaten by warfare and rusted by taint. Skyquake looked around through yellow optics, confused.

"...What now?"

He smiled at him, "We go home. Optimus will show us the way."

Skyquake grumbled, glaring, "I agreed to accept his help. I _never_ agreed to follow him."

An exasperated sigh escaped him, "Follow him as a _guide_ , not follow him as a faction leader. After that, you can grumble and avoid him to your spark's content."

"...Fine."

He did not mention such a tactic would eventually fail. Optimus was unfortunately stubborn when it came to dealing with restless, grudge-bearing souls, and obnoxiously patient in winning those souls over. But if this was a result of his mulish patience, to have his twin back at his side, to be whole again, he would endeavor to let his previous persistence go. As before, the Prime had only wanted to help, to save, to heal, but he had been too blind to see it then.

Motioning them, the Prime led them back to the tear in reality, where a black, star speckled void loomed, and beyond it burned a haven of light.

* * *

He unobtrusively followed them for some time within the shining copy of Iacon, to ensure all was well, and then left them to their devices. He had retreated to the towering dome of the Hall of Records where he had found a small table beside a grand window that looked out over the city. The sight of so many dancing lights in the air or flowing along nearer to the ground, of the spectral shells that flew or walked or stayed, was saddening but too caused a fleeting smile. The many who were at peace here far outweighed those who were restless, and he had eternity to assist them. Dreadwing and Skyquake had been a special case, requiring alacrity he had not anticipated beforehand. He was glad to have been able to help them, no matter if Skyquake still harbored a grudge. He trusted in his twin to have him see reason. Eventually.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you! Where in creation did you disappear to?!"

Ariel joined him at the table, leaning onto one elbow joint and resting her chin in her hands.

"Business," he said.

She rolled her optics, "Riiight. That's what you _always_ say. Did you finally break Dreadwing, then? Finally pester him into submission?"

"Oh, more than that. I not only broke the wild horse, I gave him his freedom back."

His smile broadened when two familiar jets raced by in his view, one deep purple, the other army green, twirling around each other, laughing. His sweet Ariel pieced the puzzle together in a mere shutter of an optic.

She smiled, chuckling, shaking her helm, "You never know when to quit, do you? You seem to care more about them than me!" she added in offense.

"What? No, I –"

Laughing, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his helm, "I'm kidding, Ori. You always make time for me, even in a place where time doesn't matter."

He returned the gesture.

" _Happy is he_  
 _who has eternity with she,_ " he murmured to her.

She giggled, "Oh, you sweet talker, you," and offered another kiss.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Holy fricking hell I am SO sorry I'm so behind on this one. D: But yeah. Made it a long one to make up for the huuuuuuge wait.**


End file.
